Golgotha all those years ago. From her black armour plates to her massive main battle cannon, from
her fine gold detailing to the Mechanicus shrine that graced her rear, she looked exactly as she had
on the day he had first laid eyes on her. To him, she was the spirit of the Imperial Guard made
manifest.
192
He had thought her lost forever until a Mechanicus transmission received over two years ago
mentioned her location. Now he knew he had been right to push for a recovery mission. Yes, men
had died to get her here. By all accounts, the blood-price had been horribly high, but the effect of
her presence on Armageddon was far beyond such a price. Her spirit charged the air. Men reached
out to touch her cold, hard flanks, muttering prayers for strength and glory. Even now, he felt their
eyes on her. She was as much a legend as he was.
A tinny voice sounded in his ear. It was his comms-officer speaking over the intercom. “The
lord generals wish to inform you that their armies are ready to march, sir. They await your order to
advance.”
“Good,” said Yarrick. He looked again at the far foothills. More and more orks were swarming
over them, far more than he had ever faced before. Their ugly machines filled the air above with
thick black smoke. Numerous weapon misfires sent rockets screaming into the air.
Yarrick activated the vox-speakers that protruded from the Baneblade’s turret. Then he raised
his oversized power claw high above his head.
“All troops…” he bellowed.
His amplified words rolled out over the battlefield like thunder.
He swung his power claw downwards with a chopping motion.
“Forward!”
Engines roared. Treads turned. Boot-heels struck the ground in perfect rhythm.
The Fortress of Arrogance rumbled into battle, and the land trembled.
For ever after, men would remember this day.
(The End)
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